


Apatite and Purple Lilac

by ringwinner



Series: Jeweled Roses [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bonding, Cute things, Fireside conversations, M/M, cultural discussions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringwinner/pseuds/ringwinner
Summary: Communication, blending old and new things in one's life, and perhaps, even, the first stirrings of love. Bilbo and Thorin share secrets by the fireside.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Jeweled Roses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076396
Kudos: 16





	Apatite and Purple Lilac

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project of mine — to turn my old roleplays into fanfiction and share them with the world. I think it's more for my own healing that I do this, but I hope you guys enjoy the efforts and the world we've created.
> 
> Warning: This Bilbo is more of a Took than a Baggins. If you're looking for nervous, fidgety Bilbo, you will not find him here.
> 
> If you're intrigued by other writing of mine, you can visit my Bilbo Baggins blog [here.](https://ringwinner.tumblr.com/)

He still worried after Thorin.

One miracle performed by a wizard did not a full heal make, and Oin had had to set broken ribs and smear oils and ointments upon bruises and bloody cuts with Bilbo assisting at his side. They awaited the moment that Thorin could travel again, when he could walk without first collapsing against the nearest tree, making camp in a field of tall grass.

Bilbo sat near the edge of the campfire, his eyes trained upon the midnight toned coat and imagining the bandages behind the armor. He sniffed, closing his eyes, and tried to attend better thoughts—like that hug on the Carrock, upon which he lingered frequently, and the glances he and Thorin seemed now to often share, and the way that Thorin stilled under his touch instead of trying (and failing) to wriggle away from Oin.

He opened his eyes and blinked. Thorin was coming closer, not quite limping, but carrying himself as he would per usual. Bilbo pursed his lips, disapproving, but said nothing as Thorin sat beside him.

"You should spend less time preparing meals and more time training your arm."

A huff, more disbelief than anything else. Train? With Sting? He needn’t, surely, because there were twelve other  _ actual  _ warriors who would gladly take up arms should they find themselves in trouble. He said as much, looking at Thorin out of the corner of his eye.

"My arm  _ was  _ trained. To dice vegetables. Or would you rather we eat cram the rest of the way there?"

"I've gone on less during travels. You need sword practice, Master Baggins."

"Perhaps you have, but it's not proper, all those lovely herbs and spices wasting away in a pack. Besides, who would you consign to teach me?"

"Proper or not, it only adds more to the provisions we already carry. I can assign Fili to, or if I must, then  _ I _ shall."

Bilbo doesn’t consider himself agitated, but he does find the whole idea preposterous. Sword training, honestly. As if he, a full head shorter than Thorin, would be able to wield a sword against a great pack of Orcs or Wargs. He snorts at the idea, folding his legs and shaking his head. 

"Must you? I hardly think this is necessary; I've been managing just fine, thus far."

"Managing is not the same as mastering. A compromise, then. Train, and I'll allow you to keep the herbs you prefer."

"But we're not  _ meant  _ to master swordplay, us Hobbits."

And cue a little sigh from the Shireling, small finger gently prodding Thorin's chest. "Oh, bother it. Very well, then. We have an accord. Just so long as you keep Dwalin far away from me. I have a feeling he'd sooner  _ tear  _ my arm off than  _ train  _ it."

Thorin smirked, faint and hidden under the rough of his beard. "As you are likely correct in that assumption, you have my word. It will consist of myself or Fili. Before we're done, you may just pass as an apprentice."

The king's words had his head listing to the side and his brows rising into tawny curls. The Hobbit squints, letting out a soft hum. "Is that a challenge, Sir Oakenshield? Hmph. When you're done with me, I'll – well, I'll be the finest warrior this side of the Eastfarthing, just see if I won't! "

"No need for dramatics," Thorin drawled. Truth be told, he only hoped the Hobbit would learn a thing about fighting rather than fumbling about. "We'll start first thing in the morning before we break camp."

Bilbo snorted, a good-natured sound that parted his lips as he hefted his little letter opener sword out of its hilt. He'd been carrying it around with him everywhere and studying it every time they stop. "As you say, yet no matter how far you get me, I shan't know what to do with this when I get back to the Shire."

Sword drawn, Thorin took a glance at it. Paltry in comparison to the weapons the Company carried. Yet, it would work well enough for the practice needed.

“You may end up  _ liking it, _ you know,” Thorin says, a little smirk on his face. “You may even take up arms around the borders of the Shire, with rangers to assist you. You may even find yourself  _ dueling, _ perhaps, in the Taverns and rings in Bree, where bets will be placed on your prowess.”

Something ocurred to Bilbo then, and he stood, nose twitching as he stared down at Thorin with falsified umbrage.

"I bet you were one of the ones who thought I wasn't going to show up, weren't you?" His lip twisted in wry amusement, sword still held lightly between them. A little laugh – a giggle, more like – bubbled up from his chest. "My kin? The little ones, perhaps. The others will simply think me madder than they already do. We have no use for these in the Shire, after all."

"I did not place that bet," Thorin muttered. "But if I had, would it comfort you to know I would have lost?"

"A bit. But you ought not to blame me for feeling a bit vindictive."

This he sniffed out, looking somewhat haughty. Really, who could blame him, this grocer-turned-burglar? He lurched as Thorin reached for Sting, tugging it out of his grasp. Nothing yet, he supposed, was quite gentle with the Dwarvenking. 

"… You are quite odd for a Hobbit." Another glance, his hand running across the hilt while he inspected the craftsmanship."Though I mean that in the best manner, of course."

"Hm. I didn't use to be. Before I left, I'd always been told that I was the very picture of my father. Solid and comfortable. No doubt that's changed, now."

"You'll have rumors surrounding you for months, perhaps even years. Does that make you regret your choice?"

"Regret it? No, I – hardly. I've accepted that for quite a long time."

He chuckled, tucking Sting back into its hilt before he glanced back up at the Dwarf. "You can be gossiped about for any number of things in the Shire, you see. My mother and father were prime examples. He, a Baggins, marrying a Took! I doubt it'll be any surprise to Hobbiton that Belladonna Took's son has gone off into the blue. No, I'm quite content where I am, thank you. I'd like to see this through to the end. That is, to see you home. It's far more rewarding than shutting down the hearsay would ever be."

A moment upon reflection and Thorin smiled while his arms folded over his broad frame. Dwarves did not meddle in frivolous gossip, yet he found it entertaining to imagine. "If you are certain, then you have the gratitude of the Company." a pause. "And mine as well."

Bilbo shrugged, smiling sheepishly, and scratching the back of his head. Having gratitude from Thorin, of all people, still made him flush. He's worked hard at such simple acceptance. Sometimes, he yet doesn't know what to do with it ."Please, think nothing of it. If I wasn't sure, I'd have stayed in Rivendell. Besides, I've… grown quite fond of some of the Company, anyway. I only wish for their happiness, and for yours, of course."

Thorin spent a moment to contemplate, eyes set even while his chin lowered. When he finally spoke, it was with a softer tone than before, if only due to the darkening sky. "It is apparent they have taken a shine to you. Which is why we'll need to make sure you master that sword of yours, so no harm befalls our Burglar." 

Bilbo blinked, then smiled like a loon. He ducked his head to hide the grin, and Thorin was presented with toffee-colored curls. A little chuckle alluded to his happiness. As many friends in the Shire that he may have had, he'd admittedly felt closer to the Company than most, and to hear such things made the little Hobbit giddy.

"I see. Well, I have faith in your tutelage. I may not be a born fighter, but I am a fast learner. Surely I'll be of some credit to you."

It was decidedly odd how smiling came so naturally. After so long spent in a hardened shell of a king-in-exile, Thorin somehow found it so easy to crack around the Halfling.

"Which was why I'll be betting for you, Master Baggins." his arms fell from his chest as Thorin paused a moment. "Now — what did you cook for sup?" 

"Oh? Then we'll just have to show Dwalin what's for, I think. That'll teach him to steal my trout. Sat right down and ate it out from under my – hm? Oh, we've managed to catch a few rabbits, so I've braised them in ale. They're seasoned with onion and garlic, a bit of thyme and parsley… I'm sure the Company will be quite happy, and I've set aside the bones to make a stew for breakfast, as well."

Thorin's large brow rose; He wished to question this incident with Dwalin but decided it wasn't as important as perhaps he thought. The meal sounded better to him than dealing with stolen trout.

"Very well. Perhaps scolding you on herbs was a poor decision on my part if it tastes as good as you say." Taking a step around Bilbo's side, he quirked an eyebrow at him. Bilbo, meanwhile, sniffed, looking almost offended.

"Well, of course it's as good as I say. Hobbits do not lie — unless you're my relatives, in which case you lie about how many spoons you've stolen from my drawer. Come, o'king. Allow me to show you the wonders of Hobbitish fare."

"Wonders, you say?"

"Wonders, "He affirmed, prodding the Dwarf in the direction of the campfire. He doled out a generous portion of rabbit for Thorin and a slightly larger one for himself, just a bit. He presented his impromptu dinner companion with his plate and settled down beside him." Go on, then. Eat up."

With thick fingers the meat tore, slipped then past thin lips. Enamored by the tender rabbit, Thorin murmurs between chews. "I stand corrected, Bilbo. Wonders indeed. Thank you."

Bilbo brightened considerably at the praise, managing a little smile. It might have been the first time he'd actually called him  _ Bilbo, _ and that just made the moment, really. "A-ha. I'll make a Hobbit out of you yet. I'm glad you're enjoying it."

Thorin set aside his plate with the last bite gone while he openly sucked on the end of his thumb. "We'll have a trait or two to share by the end of this." he agreed, then paused to stare into the fire. 

A great length of time passed, and the sun all but disappeared beneath the horizon. But Bilbo simply continued to warm his toes by the fire. It felt like he was back home for once." I should thank you, actually," He almost whispered. "Seeing the world was a long-suppressed desire of mine. When you… when you came that night, I realized I hadn't quite buried it as far as I'd hoped. So, thank you."

Thorin shifted uneasily; gratitude was not typically offered to him. So he nodded in answer, letting it sink in, as once more the sounds of cracking wood and breeze took over the moment. Then, he spoke again.

"There are many places that hold wonder and beauty. Once, I too longed to take my own travels across the Misty Mountains, south through Moria. I was… enthralled at the thought, crossing ridges I had not yet seen." as if the memory drained him, Thorin exhaled a steady breath before continuing. "But I was still a child at the time. My brother and I made promises then. Promises not easily kept."

"You had a brother?" News to Bilbo, who knew only of Thorin's father and grandfather thanks to that long-ago campfire story. He squinted up through the twilight to study Thorin’s features, a frown perched delicately upon his lips.

It's true, this was no walking holiday. Bilbo knew that, inevitably, at the end of the tunnel, a dragon was waiting for him and certain death with it. But just now, he could relax. He hadn't had the terrible circumstances of Thorin's life presented to him. He so finds it easy to simply sit back – which he does, head casually listing to the side as he stares up at the king." That's a pity. I'm sorry you couldn't go… but there's beauty to be had in the world even still. Perhaps one day, you may be able to keep your promise to him anyway."

Again Thorin nods. Speaking of Frerin seemed better kept to the breast, for now. It could be a selfish thing to not disclose more of his past, yet, he always had by nature. It consoled him to have this moment, a hint of civility and equality in a mess of doubt. 

"I have new promises and oaths to keep. One day perhaps I will take my own time, but responsibilities tie me to other paths." away from the fire he looked to the Hobbit, thankful he hadn’t pressed any questions he may be unwilling to answer. "Should this journey end favorably, take the time on your return home."

"I didn't… it wasn't my intention to pry, "He fumbled, meeting his gaze. Bilbo attempted to take the saw as a dismissal with grace, managing his way with a smile and soft words. Thorin was, after all, a private individual. If he didn’t wish to speak of his brother or the things they'd promised to do, well then – he's just going to have to fill the silence for the both of them.

"Oh! I… yes, I do intend to. Once all of this is over, I'd like to be able to really see where I’ve gone, you know? I've been detailing a map the whole way there, but er. But, well. You must think me terrifically silly. I know we're not on holiday."

"No, I do not." While it wasn't the point of this quest, the Halfling's view on the travel only caused Thorin to remember times before innocence was lost. Part of him was on display between the two at that moment. He felt unbalanced by it.

“I envy your excitement." His body growing weary from the long day of travel, Thorin cricked his back. He'd not  _ truly  _ rest, so conversing filled the lack of sleep he’d receive. " May I see this map of yours?" 

"Envy it? Why… why I was under the impression you and I were having a time just a few minutes ago. Surely that's not so rare for you." An eyebrow rose, but Bilbo obliged and dug the map from his pocket. Of course it's of no use to him, but he liked to look it over from time to time anyway.

It's a small thing, the parchment already beginning to fray from long days within his pocket, but it's legible and detailed all the way from the Shire to this little wilderness. "I spent some time on it before dinner, so… it's-it's still a work in progress, of course."

"Yes, well. Perhaps it’s the company involved." The parchment unfolded and Thorin bent to study it in the campfire. The newest work was more evident, and the linework easily read. It brought fondness to Thorin's expression, unbeknownst to him. " By the details, I can see you enjoy maps, Mister Baggins."

"Oh, but I do! You lot weren't much for anywhere other than my kitchen and the wash, but my study is lined with them. My mother used to go wandering sometimes. I'd make maps as a child, and over the years, I suppose it just became a bit of a hobby. I've even had rangers lend them to me while they were passing by."

He scooted to look over Thorin's shoulder to study his own handiwork. Some of the lines were a tad too straight for his liking, and he needed to flush out a few details, but he supposed, for now, it satisfied him. " I liked the one of Erebor. It's simple, I believe, but there's beauty to that. I must admit, seeing it did spur my decision some."

"Imagine that." It's entertaining to imagine Bilbo while young, wandering the Shire roads with worn maps in hand. From his knowledge of Hobbits, Thorin could also see Bilbo being chastised for his odd behavior. 

He presented the parchment back to its rightful owner. His own map, the one that led them to Erebor, was retrieved only a second later, and he offered it with a shrewd glance to Bilbo. " You are welcome to look it over."

Presented as he was with the other map, Bilbo pauses. Fluttering lashes, an intake of breath – eyes flick up to Thorin's and down to the parchment before he unfolded and avidly studied the contents.

"Thank you." He mumbles absently, still polite amidst his vast interest. "Oh, it's beautiful. Sometimes I wonder at how these little scraps of parchment manage to survive so many dirty hands and soiled pockets and yet still manage to look, well, like this."

A diverting smile appeared as Bilbo observed the map. It was incredibly fragile, so Thorin's eye remained on it. "If an object be of use, one would care for it even on the roads. Akin to your heirlooms, wouldn't you agree?" Leaning closer, he too looked over the parchment. Even with those runes hidden, he could see them along the edges, as clear as the print of his grandfather's name.

"My mathoms? Oh, well… yes, yes, I suppose."

Bilbo nodded, recalling his irritation in dealing with the then-unfamiliar Company and their all-too-exploratory hands. He supposed this must be one of Thorin's then, and thus handled it with great care. "Tables and chairs, though, mostly. Doilies and silverware. Nothing quite so… magical."

For to him, it was what moon runes were, appearing out of nothing as they had. It's where his fingers have now strayed, tracing nonsense patterns as if he can still see the Cirth imprinted upon the vellum. Bilbo handed the map back to the king with great reluctance after a (more than) thorough examination. "I'm a bit jealous, actually. Not that I'd have any use for it. Thank you for that. It… it means a lot that you would trust me with such an important thing."

Folding the map, it was soon back in safe keeping inside a hidden pocket of his tunic." Don't think of it. Suppose it’s the least I can do for treating us with company and food.

"…there are countless maps in the athenaeums of Erebor." He thought back of his tutelage there, learning histories and other tasks to shape him into an heir of Durin. How he wished he could have taught his sister's sons in the same fashion he had. Thought of his stolen home filled the king with hope - that this quest would not be forsaken. The peace of the evening now fueled him in a way that was hard to explain. 

"Are there? Of what? Oh, of the mines, of course. O-o-o-or of the mountain itself. Of… of the Greenwood. Or Arda! Well – how else would you learn about the world but through a map? How big are your libraries? Why they must be —-"

Thorin had found one of Bilbo's many passions, evidenced by his quickened speech and wide, twinkling eyes. Ever so like a child, his arms stretch wide in emphasis ( _ huge! _ Implies the gesture), and he smiles wonderingly up at the sky. His little adventurer's heart would be quite content in even the smallest of libraries. But Erebor was more than that. Erebor was an entire mountain – and a mountain full of books (among a few other things, of course) would be quite the sight indeed. Inevitably though, he realized that his mouth had been running, and thus he clapped his hand over it. Eyes even wider than before, he rattles, "Oh! How terribly rude of me. I mean to say that that's just  _ fascinating, _ Thorin. Did you study them often?"

Bilbo’s exuberant nature motivated Thorin to grin, teeth white against the dark of his beard. Listening to him ramble created another feeling entirely. Once more, he cannot help but let a soft chuckle escape from deep within his chest.

"I cannot count necessarily, but I remember many, many rooms filled with maps and tomes. Some from ages ago, brought to the mountain when it was first settled. Scholars came to live in our halls, and taught us much. My siblings and I were often left to our own, imagining us upon the very maps themselves. Treading through marshlands and climbing great mountainsides." it Bilbo’s rambling seemed contagious, as Thorin found himself having to pause and reflect. The memory was from so long ago, yet Thorin could almost smell the pigments of the scrolls.

And if Bilbo's excitement was contagious, then Thorin's smile was even more so. The Hobbit could barely contain himself as it was, but well. It's not so often that he gets to see the Dwarf king relaxed enough to crack a grin, and in the face of it, he really cannot help but widen his own. So he does, relaxing beneath the new peace between them and laying his chin into the palm of his hand.

He listened avidly, for this was one Dwarf whose tale he hasn't yet heard. Well, he has—but not the essential parts. Not the quiet nights spent with siblings or the things he liked to do as a child. Not his favorite stories or toys or even his favorite food, for that matter, and Bilbo intended to remedy that as soon as he was able. 

"That's amazing." he declares, his eyes alive with intrigue. Thus far, he's made right sounds in all the right places, loathe as he was to keep Thorin from speaking. But he cannot help asserting his interest. “About the libraries and the scholars, I mean, but also because you and I are more alike than I'd have imagined. I used to do the same thing as a child. Did you have a favorite map?"

He shifted, and Thorin focuseed his attention on Bilbo without realizing how utterly  _ open _ he was being. He spoke with a tone unmatched by any he'd had before. It was true, he realized. There were similarities that Thorin had not expected.

"A great many. There was a scroll, with etches of Khazad-Dûm where I felt I was standing in the halls of Durin upon the day of his awakening.." A breath, glancing away from Bilbo only to watch as flames danced high into the night. Speaking of this caused an ache in his chest where he could feel the wishes and dreams of his youth once more.

It almost seemed that this conversation was a balm against those tarnished memories. "The halls, the grand atrium of the king... You will have to see them all, Bilbo. Once we take back what is ours."

Bilbo refused to look away, even as Thorin broke the contact. He remains utterly captivated by the tone of his voice and his candidness. In the silence he thinks about Thorin's childhood, the games he played. The small Dwarf (happier, surely, and a great deal more willing to show it) studying a map so thoroughly. It's a thought he wishes to retain, and indeed will strive to do so.

"Then… then I will." He promised, a steady note in his voice, which surprised him. A blink, ears twitching, but he held fast to the words and plowed onward."I – I want to. I want to see all these places and, and perhaps I won't experience them entirely as you do, but it would be extraordinary for me, too, in its own way. I'd like to be able to share in some part of your history, even if… well, I suppose you really can't come with me, can you? As if you'd have time to accommodate such a holiday. But I will."

"I am glad." There was no use in lying about this; showing off his birthplace would enthrall him, especially to one who's unexpected friendship grew with each passing moment.

Thorin knew when a gaze lay upon him, so he turned his own to the Hobbit with a cant of the head. They had spoken of so much. A brush of wind, a faint call of an owl in the surrounding forests, none of it caught his attention more than Bilbo. "You already share a part in this. You are part of the Company. Perhaps your kin back in the Shire will not see it as such, but you hold high regard in our eyes."

"I was coerced," He points out, knowing full well that he hopped after the Company like a madman. There remained a jaunty little smirk on his face which said so. Sometimes, though, he thinks he was. Likely there was a reason Gandalf gave the Dwarves leave to invade his house. He had a sneaking suspicion it has to do with Thorin's singing voice.

"Nevertheless, thank you. I know we got off to a rocky start, and it must be hard to trust someone you hardly know with a job such as this but – ouch!"

He jostled, bumping Thorin's shoulder in the process as his hand flew to the back of his head. He swore he could still hear the rock bouncing off of his skull, reverberating endlessly, as he picked up the small projectile and frowned at it. Not exactly sizable, but enough to hurt, and so he took one long glance up at the Dwarf beside him before promptly launching it back the way it came. He's only satisfied (and primly sniffs) when he hears the sentiment echoed in the bushes."I told your nephews about Hobbits and rock-throwing the other day. I suppose it's one way to get attention…"

Thorin had been listening to the Halfling speak intently, yet the moment when he was hit, the Dwarf stiffened. Reality rushed back, and with a lean the Dwarf rose to his feet, turning to stare off where the rustling duo likely kept. It reeked of them, even before his companion spoke. 

Holding back his urge to call out for his kin to come out of hiding, he instead tried to focus on who he stood by. "Rock throwing? Is it a sport in the Shire?" 

"Of a sort, " Bilbo nodded, gently massaging away the soreness. The last time he got hit on the head like that—well, he's really wasn’t sure he remembered, and doubly sure that that probably wasn’t a good thing. Still, it was more of an annoyance than real pain, so he settled his hand back into place and simply turned to keep a watchful eye on the tall blades of grass adjacent. 

"Hobbits have a bit of an affinity for projectiles, you see." he explained and searcheed for another rock to demonstrate. "They say we used to help the old king in a particular war—I don't remember, something like – but apparently, that doesn't translate into Men’s records. Anyway, it's not a publicized sport, but it's a prevalent game. I used to terrorize the birds and rabbits at Bywater Pool. You could consider it target practice if you choose. Luckily the skill's stuck with me thus far."

For a second, Thorin worried the hit caused unnecessary damage to the Hobbit; but dismissed the thought. He seemed fine. "While your intentions were pure, your lesson turned into their own target practice. They should know better. Jest or not." 

A stern tone, raised slightly. Thorin had taught the two in their father's stead. Reflection of them, therefore was a reflection upon him. "...Apologies. You say the Hobbits fought in —" 

A sound then, a rock close in shape of one previous right upon the king's head. It was a sharp hit, leaving the king to spin in place. With demand in his voice, he spoke in his native tongue for his attackers to hear. " _ Ozirum menu seleku! _ "

Bilbo pursed his lips against a little smile. "Are you alright?"

When he'd taught the two of them about rock-throwing, he hadn't expected that they'd be using him as target practice. He frowned, picking up the rock which had bounced off of Thorin's head and turning it over in his hand. Well, if anything else, it'd teach him to stop running his mouth for two ne'er-do-wells. 

"I've half a mind to chuck this back in their direction, actually. Would you like me to?" Jokes Bilbo, tossing it from hand to hand. He could—well, he supposed he could. There was no clear sight to be had in this darkness, stuck as they are in such tall grass, but he's always had a keener eye than most and… and it would just teach Fili and Kili to ruin something so lovely, wouldn't it? The Hobbit watched Thorin and smiled a bit, shaking his head. Moment lost, it seemed, for that authoritative tone was back in his voice, and he's not sure if they’d be relaxing any more tonight, but at least he doesn't seem too angry. 

"No damage done." Just the self-doubt over his regard around his fireside companion. Dwarves had thick skin and even thicker skulls—the rock took a blow to a different side of the king. "Be my guest. Show up the aim you practiced so hard for." 

Just like that, he brought back a civil mood. Ushering his nephews into adulthood came with it various bruises, mental and physical. Thorin was used to behavior like this, he was just annoyed by it. Exasperated, he tries to relax as he had before, back straight and knees bent. "If you manage to hit one of them, I'll even let up on your sword training." It was merely a playful wager, but with a soft curve of his lip, it was clear he meant it.

"Oh, you will, will you? That's quite generous. I may just have to take you up on that."

He intended to take full advantage—if only for entertainment's sake than anything else. After all, as much as he dislikes it, Thorin was right. He will need to be trained for future encounters… but the practicality of it all was lost to him at the moment. He remained quiet, using his overly keen sense of hearing to pinpoint the hiding brothers. 

The silence settled him, but was shattered after a few short moments. A twitch of leaflike ears, Bilbo's arm shooting out, and he was rewarded with a soft  _ thwack! _ And a pair of startled cries. He sat back heavily, then, a faint smile lighting his features, and tucked a stray curl back while huffing." They're very loud, your nephews, for being such sneaks. It simply wouldn't stand in Hobbit circles."

Thorin quirked a brow, clearly surprised and somewhat awed. It wasn't easy to hit ones in the night. Yet, apparently, Bilbo’s talk wasn't just fluff to pass the time. "Next to the agility of your kind, I suppose it's to be expected. My word then; tomorrow I'll keep myself reserved. To start, of course. Though I cannot be held accountable if Fili feels your training requires more intensity."

Thorin smirked then, holding back any other quip for the time being.

"Hmph, well; if that's the case, then he can expect a heaping plate of greens to go along with his breakfast tomorrow." The Hobbit frowned, pitching his voice just loudly enough for the brothers to hear. Yes, he'd serve Kili a proper portion of rabbit stew – it'd just be smaller than the others and feature a few more vegetables than a healthy dwarf seemed to like. The thought brought a wicked little grin to his lips.

"At any rate, it's really not all that surprising. Those clodhoppers you all wear are a dead giveaway to any Hobbit. Why I'd say even old Farmer Maggot would be able to hear us coming. Can't you? Hear them, I mean."

"I hear them, yes. Perhaps the years have simply taken a toll on how keenly."

Years of hammering steel, crafting weapons, the chatter of men while he worked on their swords for the little coin to take to the next place of shelter. It seemed a lifetime ago, now. 

“Well,” Bilbo snuffed, moving to sit properly. “Perhaps you lot should try a day or two without them. The boots, I mean.”

He did not think to put his ease and the Hobbit’s company together to ascertain his leisurely mood just yet. The absurdity of the situation kept alive his merriment. Imagining the other dwarves in bare feet—especially Dwalin—made the king snicker under his breath. "When we are well and settled in Erebor,  _ perhaps _ it can be arranged.”

" I shall hold you to that, Sir Oakenshield. And I demand to be able to put Dwalin in any Hobbit wardrobe I so choose while we’re at it.. …Nori, too, for that matter. He filched his fair share of my mathoms, he did!"

"It will be so, master Baggins. Eventually, I will be so. We'll be at the mercy of our wrongdoings." the king let himself smile, exhaling while he let that laughter subside.

Long were the moments of his reflection after, nature of his mind coming forth to settle and reserve any further discussion on his end. For one who spoke so rarely, he had done a fair share in one evening. Showing his emotions, however subtle, was almost draining. Instead, Thorin listened, to the Halfling speak, to the winds and creaks of trees. Shuffling of boots from the Company not far off. Everything felt at peace, barely felt since days of his youth. It startled him somewhat. Perhaps he could even  _ sleep _ for once, under this influence, though he still did not wish to part from his current company. 

"May I ask—" He spoke, carefully. "Do you sing?"

Even if he was inclined to sleep, loathe was Bilbo to leave Thorin’s side for his bedroll on the other side of the fire. Now he regretted the fact that he'd have to part from him entirely instead of being able to doze the night away speaking. Comfortable, he was—all too comfortable, and if that meant spending an extra hour or two awake, well, he'd done much worse before.

"Sing? Why, yes—yes, I do. I've composed and sung my own songs before, as a matter of fact. I'm not any bard or minstrel, mind, but it's a hobby. Why?" That was a curious non-sequitur, wasn't it? The Hobbit's honeyed eyes glanced up curiously, head tilted so that the soft waves of blond nearly obscured them." Though, to be fair, Thorin, I doubt anyone sings as well as you do."

“I enjoy a song or two." No sooner than he spoke it, he went silent for a moment, contemplating what drew up the question in the first place. It could have been the serenity of the moment, he thought, and that only served to confuse him all over again.

He was also taken back by the compliment. Bilbo speaks so fondly he wondered if it was due only to his presence or if there was truth behind it. Humbling a king was an act not many could accomplish, but his own lacking self-worth assisted in it." Would you consider teaching me one of the songs you sing? I find it helps my sleep."

Bilbo's mouth dropped open a bit at the request, though he hardly thought to reject it. No, he'd not deny sharing some of the Shire's songs with an acquaintance (friend?) like Thorin, but the thought of him singing a song made for Shirefolk stilled his tongue. It made him smile, though, the thought, and soon he found himself nodding in acquiescence.

"If you should like to learn one," He consents. "But I'm afraid our songs are a great deal simpler than yours: trees and flowers, love, simple things like that. There's a song my mother used to sing, if you'd like to learn it. It's like this… 

_ "I walked in town with silver spurs that jingled to  
_ _ A song that I had only sang to just a few _ .  
_ He saw my silver spurs and said, let's pass some time _ .  
_ And I will give you summer wine, summer wine. _

_ Strawberries, cherries, and a bird's song in spring,  
_ _ My summer wine was really made from all these things _ .  
_ Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time _ .  
_ And I will give to you summer wine, summer wine." _

Bilbo flushed all the way to his cheeks, ears tipped with pink as the last line leaves his lips. He was certainly not as Thorin, but his voice was sweet enough. Still, he stumbles over an apology, fingers running haphazardly through his curls." I'm afraid I don't usually sing for others, else I'd be a sight better, but, er, there you are. We could go over that if you like."

He listened as if captured by the harmony. It  _ was  _ simple—tender even—compared to the songs Thorin had heard throughout his lifetime. Shirefolk were oft left to these things, as peace was so easy for them to obtain. Envy stirred inside of Thorin Oakenshield, yet his serene trance won out in the end.

Bilbo's voice was kind like summer sunshine, and he found it soothing, yet dare he not speak of that. Instead, he lowered his chin, letting his own deeper tone take wing, vivid in the ebb of night. 

_ "Take off your silver spurs... Help pass the time,  
_ _ And I will give to you summer wine, summer wine.."  _

He offered the Halfling a smile, content with the moment. "It's a fine song. You say your mother used to sing it?"

—-—And all the while, frissons of satisfaction leaped down Bilbo’s back at the sound of Thorin's voice. It bid him to grin, his chin resting upon his knees while he simply listened to his much more resonant timbre take hold of the music in a way no Hobbit could ever think to achieve. As with before, he allowed himself to drift in the short-lived moment Thorin deigned to sing and found that despite the ground they were sitting on and the chill of night, he would have happily fallen asleep then and there, given enough time.

"…Hm? Oh! Yes, quite. Yes, she did. Actually, I rather think she'd have kept it to herself if she so pleased. It was meant for my father, you know—but she sang it for me anyway. Sang me to sleep with it, calmed me down with it… I thought perhaps since it helps you sleep, I'd try and help a little more. Did… er, did you like it?"

The latter he queried sheepishly, the tiniest of smiles on his face as he glanced up at Thorin in full ."You sound as if you like it, anyway, from the way you sing it. But that could just be me."

"I do. Simple was not how I would describe it." It was meant to be a compliment, but with his thoughts focused on keeping the lyrics close so he could practice further on, it came out indifferent. When he glanced at the Hobbit, Thorin felt himself hesitate. Akin to apprehensive behavior in Dwarrows half his age, he waits as if time had come to a standstill. Confusion settled, unsure of the reasoning other than understanding how much he had shared with Bilbo over the evening. Finally, when he spoke, eyes skipped over to watch the flame. 

"I'll keep it to heart and sing it again... If you don't mind."

Bilbo hadn’t decided upon an apt description of the color of Thorin's eyes. It’d been he's-not-sure-how-many months and still he floundered at the sight of them, purely because he feels caught every time they match gazes. But tonight, he decided there likely was no other thing to call them than Durin blue, and he commited the epithet to mind while the Dwarf looked away.

"I would hardly mind. Honestly, I'm honored that you like it enough to sing it." His voice gentled as he watched Thorin hunker down, and then the Hobbit sighed and rocked upon the balls of his feet until he could adequately stand. The stiffness in his limbs was quite telling—had they really been sitting together for so long? A glance up at the sky told him so, and so he bit his lip before offering a little bow. 

"It's late," He explained with a rueful smile, "And I'm sure you're about as tired as I look. But I've had a lovely time talking with you, and just—well. Thank you for indulging a simple Hobbit. … 'til tomorrow, then."

Embarrassed, Bilbo tucked his head down and skittered across the campsite, receiving a few thumps on the back (in greeting) and mutinous glares (from Fili and Kili) along the way. He tucked himself into his bedroll quite easily, though he doubted he’d get any sleep tonight. Burgeoning affection—and the thought of having to duel tomorrow—kept him awake for quite some time.

And Thorin, watching him, once more found himself drawn back through muddled emotions. When did Bilbo start to influence his state of mind? "Rest well." 

Without his companion, he found no longer any warmth. The air bit against his cheeks, colder and harsher in the night. Yet he rests right where he was, where they had shared so much, leaning far back enough upon the closest trunk with arms folded over chest. Deep within him, he felt a stir, lips parting in silent song taught moments before. As he sang himself to sleep, his thoughts lingered on maps, stew, and honey curls.

  
  
  



End file.
